Writing Future Wrongs
by xTie on Wings
Summary: 'The descent to Hades is much the same from whatever place we start.' –Anaxagoras How did the villains starting to search for happy endings bring about the rule of Hades? And, in Storybrooke, who is the Author that left the book depicting it? Read to find out. Captain Swan, Snow Charming, Outlaw Queen, Hades/Maleficent.
1. Chapter 1

Authors Note: Hello, lovely readers. First of all thank you for taking the time to glance at this little fic. My cousin, xbballbolin came up with a spectacular concept of a dystopian future ruled by HADES and decided to not continue their fic because they have too many art commissions and I begged to take this story. I adore the concept and can't wait to run with it!

STOP! NEED TO KNOW BEFORE CONTINUING:  
-The first part of this fic, is a rewritten end to 4x11 winter finale!  
-Also takes place after the Disney movie Hercules  
-I was watching old Disney House of Mouse episode where the villains took over and Hades had a crush on Maleficent and it sparked my creativity.

_.- -" "- -._

(… .(_\\.../_)… )

{ _"…=-… }- - - - - -{.. .-=…"_}

xTieOnWings  
presents  
Writing Future Wrongs  
A Once Upon A Time Fan-Fiction

{_.."… … … … … … …""(_}

Summary: The descent to Hades is much the same from whatever place we start. –Anaxagoras How did the villains starting to search for happy endings bring about the rule of Hades? And, in Storybrooke, who is the Author that left the book depicting it? Read to find out. Captain Swan, Snow Charming, Outlaw Queen, Hades/Maleficent.

-{[Storybrooke, Maine/ Present day]}-  
{[During Ending of 4x11]}

The nib of the fountain pen drew a swooping calligraphic text across 1the story book page, the haired fibers soaking the jet black pigment as the metal meticulously molded letters into words, words into sentences, and sentences into a paragraph in order to illustrate the image drawn above. The writer finished his final sentence with a satisfying tap before sliding the black cap back over the nib of the pen to keep it from becoming dried out. Between his fingers, the pen spun- from one to the next and back again in an endless cycle- as he observed its content and legibility.

"Still got it," the writer approved, the edge of his lip curling up into a smirk upon examining his artistic prowess.

But his moment of admiration is short lived. Aged hinges sent a loud groan echoing off vaulted ceilings and throughout the massive mansion declaring to him that an intruder had entered the premises. Alarm bells sounded in the writer's head causing him to leap to his feet and scoop his creations sprawled across the desk up into his arms. Footsteps drew closer in a daunting echo with numbers larger than previously anticipated. Carefully, he slid his chair back into the table and glance around the room. Floor to ceiling bookcases lined the walls of the study that to the untrained eye had no door but something told him that wasn't going to keep them out.

Then came the slightly distorted voice of young Henry Mills, "After you guys left, I stayed behind to look around, and I found something."

The study. Henry had found the study. The safe haven had been compromised… but he wouldn't be. He tucked the disheveled papers chaotically piled into a large leather-bound book beneath his arm- the book fitting snuggly between his ribs and bulging bicep- and disappeared in a gust of condensed flashes of blue and white just moments before Henry pulled the sconce on the exterior wall, causing the trick wall to shift, rotating to reveal the hidden study. The author left no trace, but a change in the air, an easily dismissed as a drafty spot in an old house.

[xXx]

{(The Underworld)}  
(10 years B.H. [before Hades] Original Timeline)

Hades never understood the significance behind the phrase 'turning over a new leaf'. Sure, he understood the meaning people intended to convey by using that particular proverb. They spoke of new beginnings, of disembarking from the rocky valleys of yesterday of greener sun-dappled pastures. But to him the words brought him back to his trips topside from his dominion over the Underworld. He inspected each plant closely, his analytical mind never yielding. He found the back of the leaf to be rather unimpressive. Nothing insightful or visionary. He'd seen them all too: willow, oak, maple… all of them. If he'd found anything, it was a bug. Creepy crawlies that actually made him glad he resided over the underworld far below where any of them dare go. It was far from the hopeful innovation and reform the phrase represented for so many.

However, when Hades traveled to another realm, he gained an entirely new appreciation for that troublesome idiom. He met a woman in the land of forests with billions of leaves all around. He'd spent centuries enjoying his solitude in the Underworld, was obsessed with increasing his kingdom and suddenly all he wanted to do was be near the blonde vixen… the enchanting enchantress that cast a spell on his heart and made it beat again. He was turning over a new leaf, was willing to leave his kingdom for her, and then he realized the dark truth of this world. One can try to change their lives; they can fight to better themselves. But all they find is a new kind of slime.

Instead of happiness with his beloved, Hades and Maleficent had their child taken from them- the beautiful baby girl sure to be the apple of his eye picked from his life by those who were supposed to be heroes. It was a devastating loss that drove Hades back to his land and down a rabbit hole darker than he'd ever been down. It had become about gaining power and prestige, building a kingdom he could bring her home to. He'd even become what he hated and made an attempt on the life of another child, tried to turn Hercules mortal and stop him from participating in the war that could win him the power to find his baby girl.

And he suffered for it. Hades had been casted into the River Styx and there he stayed…

Until now.

Emma Swan stood at the edge of the River Styx searching the souls as they flowed past for her beloved. From the moment he was ripped away from her, Emma had been fighting to get to him and yes she'd been through hell… literally… but she regretted none of it because it brought her here. So she dove her hand into the depths of the river fishing for Hook.

But what she hooked was the man responsible for the world's demise.

[xXx]  
{(Storybrooke, Maine)}  
(Present Day Post-4x11 Later at Night)

Amber liquid swirled within the culvert of the crystal glass, bubbling with aroma and indulgence as Regina Mills collapsed into her office chair with an exhausted thud. Between the emotional goodbyes with Robin, an all-out-brawl with Snow- thanks to the latest curse that rocked Storybrooke-, and the hunt for the Author, she was simply exhausted. She brings the glass to her parched mouth- a relaxing treat well deserved- and swallows the contents in a single gulp like the obligatory swallow of medicine. She winces as the burn of bourbon had its desired effect and reached out to refill the glass for another round but the bottle vanished into thin air before she could grab hold.

Her heels clacked against the floor as Regina popped up onto her feet scanning around the spacious office for any indication as to who or what was responsible for taking it. All her senses shift to high alert which was probably why she could feel the change in the charge of the room, feel her arm hairs stand on end as the positive and negative ions shifted. Then what looked like lightning in a bottle- a condensed storm of blue and white flashes of electrical current- danced in her peripheral where her eyes immediately flashed to as he materialized within the flashes. And once they were gone he became clear lounging on her couch with rugged, black moto-boots propped on top the coffee table and drinking straight from her missing bottle of bourbon. In the enchanted forest, people had perished for far less.

"Who the hell are you?" snaps Regina in evil queen-like fashion. She was all too familiar with the pattern of villain after villain with ulterior motives and wanting to cause them harm appearing in town. God, she just hoped he wasn't some other long lost relative wanting vengeance.

At her question, he slowly began to shake his head back and forth. Then he continued on to let out a slight chuckle before an infuriating smirk slipped onto strong features that made him the poster child of tall, dark, and handsome, and he cheekily replied, "ya' know, you're not being very hospitable Madam Mayor. First I have to get my own drink and now all this hostility. Is that any way to treat the man you've been looking for?"

His words connected dots in her mind and suddenly she realized who he was claiming to be. The Author. He didn't even slightly resemble the image of the Author she'd concocted in her mind. Instead of a sage old man, he was a handsome rogue barely old enough to be called a man instead of a boy. Instead of long waves of grey locks and a lengthy beard, the Author had dirty blond locks spiked in a casual disarray and five-o-clock shadow. He didn't even exude infinite goodness in a similar fashion to Snow and Charming. No, the Author's aura seemed to reveal something un-angelic that drew you in like a moth to a flame knowing full well he'd burn you, equal parts magnetic and dangerous. All these differences sparked instant doubt in Regina's mind.

"You're the Author?" the raven haired beauty asked, stifling a chuckle at how outlandish his claim was.

"In the flesh," he replies before taking another swig of the quickly emptying bottle and responding cheekily, "But this whole ominous the Author title craps got to go because it sounds like some god-awful comic book villain. Please, call me Lucien."

"Well, _Lucien_ ," she begins adding emphasis on the use of his name. "I don't believe you're who you're claiming to be."

She crossed her arms over her chest looking more political than

"Well then we're on the same page, because I don't believe you're who you're claiming to be either," he countered, the brazen statement causing her mind to go down one path when he meant another. She'd fought like hell to be considered a hero and he saw her as a villain! Who the hell did he think he was? Her mind was following the train of thought down the rabbit hole but Lucien saw and was quick to put her on the correct path. "A victim. You claim to be a victim Miss Mills… that I control your fate and am keeping you from your ever so elusive happily ever after. Well, I hate to break it to you but I'm not a crafter of the fates. Just a humble observer. Or at least I _was_."

A sickly constriction tightened within her, the pangs of finding out her quest was wasted time and the dread due to the way his sentence hung in the air culminating in a hollowing bile in the face of the truth. It devoured her insides in a single gulp causing her to look at him with looming doom. She regretted asking the moment it left her lips but she had to know.

"Do I dare ask what you mean by _was_?"

He visibly slumped at the question, the weight of it crushing his playful demeanor. His lean muscled form slipped from the couch and he sauntered over by the window, taking in the quaint little town's peacefulness like a calming breath. Maybe it was the knowledge that it would soon be destroyed that made him appreciate what was in front of him. His eyes stayed fixated upon the calming sight, but he couldn't erase the haunted nature nipping at his tone.

"I never once questioned what I was supposed to do, never thought my gifts would become a curse, but what I saw," he begins, his brows pinching together as searches his vast vocabulary for the right words. But he realized there were no right words to accurately depict the hell that would soon fall upon them. "Well see for yourself."

When he turned back to Regina, the young writer had a leather-bound book like the ones they had found in the Author's home in his extended hand. His grave warning seemed to take a back seat to the mayor's curiosity. She reached out to take the book but he quickly pulled it back from her reach, unable to let her go down such a dark path without understanding. "I must warn you, Miss Mills, it's a bit of a Pandora's Box and once you open it, there's no turning back."

End of Chapter One

Author's note: One of my favorite things about fan-fiction is the reviews ya'll write! It really helps me craft and mold the story and lights a fire under my butt to keep going knowing people are interested in seeing what'll happen next. So reviews are greatly appreciated and thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Authors Note: Hello, lovely readers. First of all thank you for taking the time to glance at this little fic. My cousin, xbballbolin came up with a spectacular concept of a dystopian future ruled by HADES and decided to not continue their fic because they have too many art commissions and I begged to take this story. I adore the concept and can't wait to run with it!

STOP! NEED TO KNOW BEFORE CONTINUING:  
-I usually do multiple scenes but this is a turning point and a lengthy one at that.  
-It is hella-hard to write a character as layered and impressive as Regina so I'd appreciate feedback.  
-Enjoy and review, please and thank you :]

_.- -" "- -._

(… .(_\\.../_)… )

{ _"…=-… }- - - - - -{.. .-=…"_}

xTieOnWings  
presents  
Writing Future Wrongs  
A Once Upon A Time Fan-Fiction

{_.."… … … … … … …""(_}

Summary: The descent to Hades is much the same from whatever place we start. –Anaxagoras How did the villains starting to search for happy endings bring about the rule of Hades? And, in Storybrooke, who is the Author that left the book depicting it? Read to find out. Captain Swan, Snow Charming, Outlaw Queen, Hades/Maleficent. Eventual Elsa/OC

{(Storybrooke, Maine)}  
(Present day, the Next Morning)

Regina isn't entirely sure when the luminescence of her desk lamp became unnecessary because of the natural light of morning rays filtering through the window but it has. The sun has snuck up high into the sky where the moon had resided when she started reading through the massive leather-bound book. Page after page she poured over looking for any discrepancies that would dub the so-called author a fraud. But she didn't find any. Every page illustration, his handwriting, and even the dialect used to convey the story matched the Once Upon A Time storybook with an uncanny perfection that no forger could mimic. But what it held within was absolutely appalling.

How one mere book could capture such a monumental expanse of horror and dread she wasn't entirely certain but it had. Page after page she watched the end of the world unfold with such imagery she swore she was there. With every sentence she read, every turn of the page, and each horridly catastrophic event that left the world in shambles, her heart broke a little more. They stabbed painfully somewhere deep in her chest, messier and more painful than any torture she'd ever endured or handed out. Hurt crept through her bloodstream nastier than any curse she'd ever encountered. She not only witnessed her demise but every last person she cared about; even people she didn't care about yet but would with an immensity so great, so powerful that she could already feel it.

 _Henry_. Her mind is still reeling from her son's fate. She had to witness the heroes fall- herself included- while the next generation grew and became heroes themselves. Unfortunately, their fates weren't much better. She'd endured the tragedy of watching her children- yes, children as in plural- grow and attempt to flourish in broken world… and in a sense Henry had. He was hope for the hopeless, stood for what he believed in, and protected and cared for the people he loved. He was brave, kind, and everything a mother could possibly dream their child would be. But it isn't a world she wants for her son and certainly not the fate.

No mother wants their child to die cold and alone on a battlefield.

The picture of her son lying up against the remnants of a car - his hand barely able to keep his intestines inside his abdomen - is seared into her brain, etched into her eyelids and present with every blink.

Events that haven't even come to pass yet haunt the Queen more than anything she'd ever done or endured. And not only does she understand why he doesn't want what will happen to come to pass, but she understands him more as well. She'd spent more time wrapped around his words and the bravado of his act that she didn't see past the smoke and mirrors. She now recalls his eyes: the silent storm of trepidation, horror, and hopelessness. Pieces of him have been pried from him, wiped away by knowing a burden greater than Atlas's weighs on his shoulders. Yes, she understands him, but that doesn't mean she likes him.

Almost as if he can sense she's thinking about him, he returns.

This time she is all too familiar with the change in the air, the way the hairs on her arms stand on end when he transports into the room but she can't bring herself to look up at him. She is exhausted. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. He can feel it. She is defeated in a way nobody can understand… nobody but him.

"Miss Mills," he starts, reaching forward and putting his hand on the book to pull it and her attention to him. And the moment their eyes lock, Regina swears she sees something moving deep in his deep charcoal eyes that is sympathy. He articulately recites, "'To know one's fate can be a terrible thing… That freedom is a gift but it is also a responsibility more binding than chains...' This is what I live with. I look at you and I see your sealed fate. It haunts me and becomes all I can see. And if I could, I'd of spared you from knowing what I know but I can't stop it on my own. I needed someone who can truly appreciate what's to be lost and help me save everyone."

His words spark a fight within Regina but it isn't quite what he expected. He can see it in her eyes, the lightning strike that will spark the fire and the ripple effects are instantaneous. It was always the eyes that told him what he needed to know, the windows to the soul. Sure she thinks herself to be a master of completely closing the window and drawing the black-out blinds but he can see it as clear as day. The metaphorical chamber within was open and the beast within is busting out of its cage and has its sights set on him. Within seconds frustration lashes out. Leaping out of her chair with such force that the lavish office chair flips back with a thud, the infuriated queen reaches out and takes the author by his neck.

Despite his muscle adorned form and height, he feels brittle beneath her fingertips. She uses her anger and adrenaline as fuel pulling him up and onto the desk with ease. Miscellaneous papers and décor go crashing onto the floor but the book isn't among the casualties. Instead, he's sprawled out across it and the desk like a martyr on his cross. He doesn't even try to break free causing her to hesitate enough for him to find his voice.

"Go ahead," he chokes out sounding somehow articulate. He's a man far too intimate with the possibility of death. He thrives beneath it and owns it in a way only a man who's no stranger to death and almost dying can. "But if this is my last moment I need you to hear me. If you kill me right now, it's not your fault. I did this to us. I gave you Pandora's Box knowing you could want me dead for it. And I accept that. I just needed _you_ to know."

That's when it hits her, the way he emphasizes the word _you_. What he is looking for is someone to help him save the world. So, why wouldn't he choose a hero? Curiosity gets the best of Regina and she relinquishes her hold on his throat. The unfettered access to air should cause relief in Lucien but it doesn't. He keeps his eyes trained on her, not moving a muscle, simply waiting for her to make the next move. Her poise comes back. Taking a page from his book, she turns her back to him and looks out the window at the city filled with people she's grown fond of to gain composure. And once it's there, she speaks.

"Why show me? Why not Swan or the rest of the Justice League?"

A slight chuckle escapes his lips, the genuineness detectable without even looking at him. Henry and his comic books have really taken her snark up to a new level and remind him of the woman from his book, the true hero in his eyes. The world will try to break her and she will constantly adapt by piecing herself back into a mosaic of strength and heart. She walks with the weight of worlds on her shoulders and makes it look like a pair of wings. That's how he knows she can handle the burden of the knowledge he had given her.

"Let's just say I can't drink the team Charming kool-aid like the rest of Storybrooke knowing what I know. I mean, you saw what Emma becomes. Some people get lost in the flames while others are built from them and you Miss Mills are fire… fire stronger than the flames of hell itself. And it's about time I try fighting fire with fire."

At some point, he climbed off the table and now stood behind her, his lithe movements going undetected until she sees his mirrored reflection in the glass. And in that reflection, she sees what she finally believes is his true self. Lucien isn't the eloquent use of words he hides behind or the noble cause of fighting to save the world. No in his reflection, when he thinks she can't see, she sees him. He's a scared little boy that doesn't want to fight alone anymore. She knows if she says no, he'll shatter.

"Okay," she finally says, shattering the silence that hung suffocating in the air.

"Okay?" he breathes, the words too good to be true.

"I'll help you."

As a writer he's slaved over the use of words, tediously articulated to bring life to them. Yet, he never wrote anything or would write anything as life-changing as the common words of a simple phrase signifying commitment she just uttered.

End of Chapter Two.

Author's note: I really appreciate all those who took the time to fav and subscribe to alerts for this fic, and I absolutely appreciate xbballbolin and Raven1019 for reviewing! It's really motivating knowing that people are interested and I'm not just slaving away on a story that nobody's reading. Ya'll are the best!


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